Three Is a Crowd
by Four Syllables
Summary: Hawke is acting strange to everyone. Not to Isabela though, or so she thought. F!Hawke/Isabela.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Not making a profit, just having fun.

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><p><strong>.<br>**

**Three Is a Crowd**

**Chapter 01  
><strong>

**.**

It was a particularly busy and festive night in the Hanged Man. Corff was barking orders at Edwina and Norah who, between running from one table to another, either ignored him or told him to shove it, specifically the ale barrel he had been pestering them to fetch. At the bar, a bad poet spouted verses about a dusky goddess, how her beauty had enchanted the Champion of Kirkwall and how he wished to worm his way between them.

An Antivan trading ship had docked some hours ago, and now its crew was in the process of docking in Kirkwall's finest, filthiest tavern, where just about every Lowtown whore had flocked to welcome the sailors with open arms and open legs.

Isabela was at her favorite table, playing cards with three Antivan sailors who likely thought they were going to get drinks, coin and sex by the night's end. The local patrons - the sober ones, of which there were few - looked on with amusement, knowing that these gentlemen would be walking away with empty pockets and blue balls.

"It is still so difficult to believe how Castillon lost his ship," one of the sailors said, the one who was about as broad and tall as a Qunari. "Such a careless, costly mistake. A mistake men like him are not supposed to make."

"Men like him," another snorted, a lanky young man with a deep voice and an exaggerated Antivan accent. "Men like him," he repeated, this time looking at her and flashing her a charming smile, "are clearly ill-prepared and ill-suited to handle women like you, my dear."

Isabela giggled and leaned forward, allowing a more generous view of her cleavage. The three sailors took full advantage of her generosity, making it even easier for her to cheat.

"Not that it isn't a pleasant surprise, boys," she cooed, adding more coins to the already impressive pile on the table, "but I really wasn't expecting anyone from Antiva to hear about this so soon. It hasn't been long since we took the ship from Castillon."

The lanky pirate chuckled as he threw in a few sovereigns of his own.

"These things travel quickly among seamen, some more than others."

Isabela smirked.

"Is that so?"

He grinned and began to inch closer to her.

"It is so, indeed, and I would gladly tell you which-"

"We?" the third sailor blurted out, rudely interfering his now sour friend. "Is it true, then, what they say?"

Isabela made sure to give the man her full attention.

"And just what do they say, exactly?" she asked, looking right into his blue eyes.

"That the Champion of Kirkwall gutted Velasco and presented Castillon's ship to you as a token of her love."

Isabela, who had been in the middle of changing her hand, stopped and blinked. She was about to protest - likely a very indignant, very incredulous, "What?" - when someone suddenly grabbed her wrist and she instead let out a horribly embarrassing squeal.

"Why are you here?" came a growl from behind her.

It took a moment, but Isabela recognized the voice and relaxed. She looked up and found blue eyes - bluer and prettier than the sailor's - looking back at her. With a smirk, she set her cards down and placed her hand over the fingers that were still wrapped around her wrist.

"Is there somewhere else I should be, sweet thing?" she purred, stroking the back of her captor's hand with her thumb.

"My, my," the lanky sailor chimed, "is this the Champion of Kirkwall?"

The other two sailors blatantly ogled along and murmured in approval.

"I must say, Champion," the largest of the men said, "that likeness of you in the docks does your beauty a great disrespect. Ah, but not even the greatest artist of our time could replicate such a gorgeous face on any medium, much less in cheap stone."

Isabela barely stopped herself from snickering.

"We haven't heard that one in a while, have we?"

Hawke's expression didn't change - which, Isabela realized, wasn't very expressive at all - and it was as if the three sailors had not said a word, as if they weren't even there.

"The estate," the Champion said simply.

"The estate?" Isabela parroted, clearly not expecting an answer like that.

Hawke muttered something about pirates and riddles and not being in the mood. Then, with a huff, she let go of Isabela's wrist and gingerly laced their fingers together, tugging meaningfully.

"'Bela, let's go."

Isabela smiled innocently and lifted her free hand to her necklace, absently toying with the chain that held a certain Rivaini talisman.

"Go where, sweet thing? To the mansion?" she teased, noticing her lover's eyes on her neck. "I don't remember getting an invitation."

Hawke forcibly looked away and snorted.

"Like you need one."

Isabela smirked.

"Is that an offer?"

Hawke's lips twitched, about to curve into what looked like a smile, but when a large hand grasped their still entwined fingers, the Champion scowled, and what a vicious, vicious scowl it was.

The lanky sailor, the unfortunate, oblivious fellow who was attached to the offending appendage, grinned smugly.

"So, Champion, this offer," he droned, "is it available to interested parties? Because I am very, very interested, and it would be an honor to visit the Champion of Kirkwall's abode, to... indulge in every fine detail of it."

For a moment, Hawke simply stared at the man.

"No," she said, then kicked his chair away.

The sailor's chin smashed on the table and he dropped to the floor, clutching his face with both hands as he spat out a tooth and howled in pain. His two friends immediately stood up, drawing patrons and sailors alike to the table.

"Now, now, Champion," the sailor with the not-so-impressive blue eyes said as he held his hands up in peace, "we do not wish to cause trouble in your city. My brother here, he has no understanding of boundaries, believes it to be endearing when he invades a lady's personal space, so forgive him if he-"

By the time Isabela realized Hawke was no longer holding her hand, the Champion had stalked over to the sailor and leveled him with a solid punch in the eye.

"Savage bitch," the Qunari-sized sailor spat, lunging at Hawke.

Isabela, being the thoughtful lover she was, tripped the man as he ran past her and sent him barreling into a group of onlookers. She then picked up his coin purse, which he had conveniently dropped, and proceeded to help herself with to the pot.

When the large man managed to get back on his feet, he had shoved two of his fellow sailors into a bunch of Kirkwallers and almost took a swing at Norah. After that, several blind punches and insults were thrown, arguments rose about which whore had been on whose arm and soon, the tavern erupted into an outright brawl.

Done collecting her winnings, Isabela weaved through the crowd of bodies and flying fists, searching for her lover. She found Hawke by the bar, mockingly dodging the punches of two drunk sailors while Corff sobbed about the wasted ale and the cost of the damages.

Eventually, the sailors decided that beating on each was better than trying to catch the Champion of Kirkwall, who didn't have the decency of staying in one place.

"Picking fights with drunkards now, are we?" Isabela murmured as she approached Hawke. "If you were feeling this frisky, you should have just said so. We could have found a much better way to pass the time."

Hawke rolled her eyes.

"Why do you think I was trying to get you out of here? Let's go. Now."

Isabela laughed and wrapped her arms around Hawke's neck.

"Well, if you're in such a hurry," she teased, leaning in close, "my room is right there, you know."

"Fine," Hawke relented, then pulled her in for a rough, demanding kiss.

"Mmm," Isabela moaned when they broke apart. "Starting brawls just to have sex me, sweet thing?" she asked breathlessly. "What's the Captain of the Guard going to say when she hears about this?"

Hawke scoffed.

"The Captain of the Guard can sod off."

Isabela just blinked at first, then she smiled, and then she began to giggle madly.

"Oh, you know just how turn a girl on," she purred, taking Hawke's hand and making a break for her room.

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><p>When Isabela woke up the next morning, there was a distinct stinging sensation on her ass and an even more distinct lack of Hawke at her side. She rolled on her back and hissed when something small and blunt jabbed the back of her neck. Cursing, she reached back and grabbed the damnable object, then blinked when she saw that it was a sovereign.<p>

Propping herself up on one elbow, she found several other coins scattered on the bed and even more on the floor. At the bedside table was an empty coin purse, the one she had swiped from the sailor, and it was then she remembered how Hawke had enthusiastically fucked her as she lay atop the small pile of treasure she had looted last night.

She sat up and winced, courtesy of her very sore ass. Grumbling affectionately about her conveniently absent lover, Isabela stood up and headed for the bath.

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><p>Later, Isabela walked out of her room with a smile on her face. The tavern was an utter mess, with ale, broken furniture and unconscious people on the floor. She looked around, noticing that Norah and Edwina were nowhere in sight. Her smiled turned into a smirk when she saw Hawke by the bar, cheerfully chatting up an extremely grumpy Corff. Hawke noticed her and grinned crookedly.<p>

"Slept well, 'Bela?" came the playful greeting.

Isabela kept smirking and strutted over to the bar.

"Depends on what you mean by sleep, sweet thing," she played along, bringing a hand up to affectionately pat Hawke's face, "and that's all thanks to you."

Hawke sighed dramatically.

"It's always my fault. What's next, Varric blaming me for missing out on the fun last night?"

Isabela giggled and dropped her hand to Hawke's hip.

"He could certainly bullshit his way about it. Isn't the Merchants Guild still riding his ass for information on those crazy Carta bastards who wanted you dead?"

"My blood," Hawke said. "They wanted my blood."

"To summon a big, smelly talking darkspawn," Isabela added. "That really doesn't make it better, sweet thing. Makes it worse, actually. Usually, people just want to kill you."

"And that's my fault, too?"

Isabela grinned and slipped her hand further down to squeeze Hawke's ass.

"You do attract the strangest types."

"Yes," Hawke purred, "like lust-addled pirates."

Isabela laughed and helped herself to another squeeze.

"Ooh, touché."

"Get outta here," Corff spat from behind his mug. "I've got enough trouble! First Norah and Edwina leave me here to deal with the guards and now I gotta clean up on my own. I don't need you fucking on the counter when I'm trying to scrub the blood off it."

Hawke raised an eyebrow at the angry, rambling bartender, then turned back to Isabela with a grin.

"Looks like we'll have to find some other place to fuck. The floor, perhaps?"

Isabela grinned back.

"Moving a little too fast there, sweet thing. Why don't we start on a nice, soft bed and work our way to the floor?"

"Tempting," Hawke hummed in agreement, "but I don't see a nice, soft bed anywhere."

"I have one in my room. It's not very nice and it's not really soft, but it's a bed."

"Ah, I suppose that will have to do."

Corff slammed down his mug.

"To the Void with you both!" he screeched. "Out! Out!"

The two women left, giggling all the way.

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><p>After a quick, satisfying romp, Isabela had a smug expression on her face and a dazed, breathless Hawke snuggled up to her body. There was a comfortable silence between them, one that Isabela spent running her fingers through her lover's hair.<p>

"Maker," Hawke groaned a moment later, "that stings."

Isabela chuckled and gently patted her lover's sore, tender backside.

"Had to remind you who's on top, sweet thing."

She got a nuzzle and a nip on the ear for that.

"I think," Hawke breathed, "you should remind me more often."

"You want to go again?" Isabela asked, amused. "Is it going to be all day, every day now, Tiger?"

Hawke chuckled and buried her face in Isabela's neck.

"Mmm, as delightful as that sounds, 'Bela, I can't. Places to be, things to do, you know how it is."

Isabela raised an eyebrow.

"Is the Knight-Commander terrorizing the First Enchanter again?"

"When does she not?" Hawke grumbled, then sighed. "But, no. Not any more than usual, anyway. Seems like they've mostly behaved themselves since that squabble in the market. The Grand Cleric really should visit the Gallows regularly."

Isabela's eyebrow went higher.

"What for?"

Hawke gave a little shrug.

"I don't know, so when Meredith goes crazy, the Grand Cleric will just send her to her room and make her think about what she did or something."

Isabela snickered.

"Yes, that would be something."

Hawke pouted.

"You're making fun of me."

"Am not, you silly goose," she cooed, trailing her hand higher to stroke Hawke's back, providing a surprisingly effective distraction. "So, if you're not off to babysit this blasted city, what do you have to do today?"

"Errands, mostly," Hawke answered lazily. "I haven't restocked our supplies since our trip to the mountains. We're out of health potions and combustion grenades and I think we're low on everything else. I also have to go to that smith in Hightown, see if he's finished repairing our equipment."

"Don't you nobles have servants for this sort of thing?" Isabela quipped.

"I don't know if you've noticed, darling," Hawke crooned, pausing to briefly kiss her neck, "but I'm not a very good noble. If I were, I'd be married to Seneschal Bran's son, cooped up in the mansion and bemoaning with other noblewomen about being dreadfully rich, pampered and utterly bored as I am round with my dear husband's second child."

Isabela made a face, her expression a mix of confused and disturbed.

"You couldn't have stopped at 'not a very good noble'? I would have gotten the point."

Hawke pulled away a little and looked up at her with a pout.

"But it was the life my mother used to want for me. I wanted to share it with you."

"Ohh," Isabela said, as if finally coming to a realization, "so this is an in-a-relationship kind of conversation, then?"

"It is, it is," Hawke giggled, the sound infectious.

"All right, sweet thing, I'll bite," Isabela conceded, though she was smiling. "'Used to', you say? Did your mother change her mind? And Seneschal Bran, really? The man who looks constipated whenever he speaks to you?"

"His son looked just like that when we were introduced," Hawke said, "although the frustration he felt towards me seemed to be of a different nature."

"That so?"

"It was either that or he had a dinner spoon smuggled in his pocket when he decided, since we had known each other for two whole minutes, that it was appropriate to hug me."

"I'll bet he was hoping to fork you by the end of the night."

Hawke blinked, as if unable to believe what Isabela had just said, then abruptly broke into a fit of giggles that had Isabela laughing along within seconds.

"Maker, 'Bela," Hawke wheezed, eyes teary from laughing so much, "you are terrible."

Isabela preened.

"You love it."

"I do," Hawke easily agreed, then gave her a short yet loving kiss. "To answer your question, yes, Mother did change her mind. Shortly after she caught you walking around the estate naked, in fact."

"Oh, that," Isabela mumbled, actually blushing in embarrassment. "That was... awkward."

"Yes, I was there, unfortunately," Hawke drawled.

"At least you weren't naked, too."

"Small miracles."

"Speaking of nakedness," Isabela remarked, taking a moment to appreciate her lover's nude body pressed against hers, "we could have had a quick little tumble in the time we spent talking."

Hawke laughed and kissed her again.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Now would be nice," Isabela purred, snaking her hand back down to Hawke's ass. "Why don't you be a good noble, just this once, and send a servant to do your silly errands?"

"I'd need to stop by the Emporium," Hawke said, "and you know how Xenon is about lending that charm."

Isabela shrugged.

"So send a note along with the servant, or do it tomorrow."

"Or," Hawke chimed, "you could come with me."

"Already did, sweet thing. Twice, wasn't it?"

"'Bela, I'm serious."

"Are you?" Isabela teased. "I can never tell sometimes."

"Come on, it'll be fun," Hawke wheedled her, "like... like shopping!"

Isabela looked more amused than interested.

"Oh, I do like shopping..."

"And I'll be all yours after that," Hawke happily added, "unless, of course, you'd want to do some actual shopping. Regardless, I'd have no immediate plans, but I will be heading to the Gallows later this afternoon."

"Bethany's at the Gallows? Again?" Isabela asked, and when Hawke nodded, she shook her head. "I adore your sister, sweet thing, but she's really going about this being-freed-from-the-Circle-for-fighting-the-Qunari thing all wrong if she's there every single day. She hasn't been doing this for the past three years, has she?"

"Not every day, no," Hawke murmured, then rested her head on Isabela's chest.

"So why the sudden daily visits?"

Hawke frowned.

"Because of Father, I think. It's only been a few days since we found out what he had done in that Warden prison. Right now, I think Bethany feels more comfortable in the Circle, maybe even safer, too."

The silence that followed was unsettling, but Isabela didn't allow it to last for long.

"Tell you what, sweet thing," she whispered, "take with me with you and I'll lure your sister away away from the Circle with my new book."

Hawke frowned even more.

"It's a dirty book, isn't it?"

"Is there any other kind worth reading? And it has pictures!"

"Oh, that makes it so much bett-" Hawke stopped in the middle of her sarcastic remark and blinked. "Wait, you're only coming with me to the Gallows? What about our fun shopping errands?"

"About that, Hawke..." Isabela faltered, reluctantly dragging her hand away from her lover's ass. "I would love to go, and I would go, normally, but... I'm sore, I've barely slept and, balls, I'm exhausted. How are you not the least bit tired?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow.

"Yet you were asking for more sex."

Isabela huffed.

"Of course I was! What else would I rather do before I fall asleep?"

"Me."

"Exactly!"

Hawke chuckled and, after a short pause, asked, "If this is what you wanted from the start, 'Bela, why didn't you just tell me?"

Isabela winked.

"Because you're cute when you beg."

"I would hardly consider that begging, especially not after the things you made me say half an hour ago."

"It was still cute," Isabela cooed, and when Hawke started to smile, she tapped her lover on the nose. "So, it's settled, then? You let me get some much needed sleep, then you strut your pretty little ass back here later this afternoon and we'll go to your sister together."

Hawke looked skeptical.

"By 'we', do you mean me, you and that dirty book?"

"I could bring Sebastian instead, if you prefer," Isabela graciously offered.

Hawke scowled.

"Just take the blasted book."

"Suddenly changed your mind about him, sweet thing?" Isabela teased. "Wasn't that a chuckle of approval I heard from you when he made Bethany blush like a virgin?"

"I approved of him letting her know there's one more person in this wretched world who thinks it isn't wrong to be a mage," Hawke muttered grudgingly, then scowled again. "That doesn't mean he's allowed to continue examining my sister for any evidence of the Maker's fallibility."

Isabela stifled a laugh.

"We need to talk about your issues someday."

"My issues?" Hawke sputtered. "You want to talk about my issues?"

"Someday," Isabela helpfully reminded her lover, still struggling not to laugh. "And, yes, your issues. They are far more serious than mine."

Hawke looked ready to retort, but when Isabela resumed stroking her hair, she conceded, lovingly murmuring, "Only you, 'Bela," and settling for nuzzling the pirate's breasts.

"What will you do until we we have to head to the Gallows?" Isabela asked. "After your errands, that is."

Hawke reluctantly stopped showing appreciation for her breasts and, when the question began to sink in, the Champion smirked devilishly at her.

"Don't worry about me, 'Bela. I'll find something to do, maybe check up on the others, see what they're doing. After all, I've gone three years without you. What's a few hours?"

Isabela frowned.

"Are you still bringing that up?"

Hawke nodded happily.

"You look so cute when you're feeling guilty about leaving me. Do you know how long you were gone? I can tell you, down to the exact second."

Isabela's eyes widened.

"Can you?"

"Maker, no," Hawke laughed, but sobered up quickly. "It was all a blur of killing people, wallowing in self-pity, attending one noble party after another and Bethany telling me I'd get fat if I kept eating a week's worth of pancakes in one sitting. You know, you made the most delicious pancakes. I never could make them like you did. No one could, not even Bethany."

"Marian..." Isabela started to say.

"You came back, 'Bela," Hawke murmured sweetly, utterly smitten. "It was worth it."

"Ahh, balls," Isabela cursed, covering her face with her hand in a futile attempt to hide how badly she was blushing.

Thankfully, Hawke took mercy on her.

"Sex in the bath?"

"Ooh," she giggled, "we haven't done that in a while."

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><p>"Blighted women, I'm telling you, nothing but a whole lot of mess and trouble," Corff grumbled to his most recent sympathetic listener.<p>

Varric, sitting at a nearby table that was luckily spared in the brawl, didn't respond at first. He regarded Corff quietly, observing carefully as the sullen, drunk bartender mopped the floor and took a swig with every other sweep of the mop.

"You know, Corff," he finally said, shaking his head, "all these years, I used to wonder why you never drink. Now I know, and I think I liked it better when I thought you were deathly afraid of being drunk because you were the kind of guy who would swim to the Gallows to serenade the Knight-Commander and promise to whisk her away and take off into the night sky on a speed griffon."

Corff gave him a strange look, one that went from angry to wounded and then settled on something in between.

Varric held his hands up.

"Hey, now, some of that material is yours. I thought you'd appreciate it, coming from a fellow storyteller."

"Shove it, dwarf," Corff spat.

Varric chuckled.

"Maker, you're depressing, and I'm saying that after a meeting with the Merchants Guild. It's a good thing you're sober most of the time. This gloomy, intoxicated disposition doesn't exactly help with your job."

"Job," Corff snorted, clumsily pulling up two chairs and dragging them over to a table. "I'd be done with this if not for those blighted women. Norah and Edwina are supposed to be helping me. See if I pay them for the rest of the month!"

"Not paying Edwina is almost as dangerous as flirting with her," Varric pointed out, sounding genuinely concerned. "Well, unless you're Hawke. It's been years, but I still can't believe Hawke had Edwina giggling like a shy, innocent farm girl in just five minutes. Lost ten sovereigns that day. Heh. One of the best bets I ever made in my life."

Corff sneered at the mention of Hawke and began to spout off another tirade.

"Bah, some Champion she is! There I was, trying to scrub the counter, and our beloved Champion would rather fuck Isabela on it than offer to aid me. Then, when I asked them to take it elsewhere, they had the gall to consider fornicating on the floor! Tell me, dwarf, what kind of Champion puts her own needs before her people? A self-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Varric urgently, hastily cut in. "Are you saying two beautiful women were about to make love on the counter - that counter over there - and you stopped them? No, you didn't just stop them, you told them to leave. You told them to leave, and when they thought about using the floor instead, you, once again, told them to leave."

Corrf's response was as deadpan as his expression.

"I needed to clean up."

"Dear Maker," Varric mumbled in disbelief. "Forget depressing. You, my friend, are one crazy, nug-humping bastard of a drunk. Either that or you're a better gentleman than I, but we both know how unlikely that is. Besides, crazy is always more interesting."

Coff scoffed.

"You want more crazy? We've got too much of it going around this damned city already."

Varric smiled, but it was a weary smile. He thought of templars and mages and what Isabela said weeks ago, how it felt like something big was about to happen and Hawke was probably going to be in the middle of it. He reached over his shoulder and patted Bianca. Like he had told Hawke, he and Bianca were ready for it.

"First time you made any sense since I got here, Corff," he said, raising his mug to the bartender and standing up. "Well, I had a long night and you just ruined my morning. I think I'm going to turn in before it gets any worse."

He placed a few coins on the table and walked into the hallway. As he made his way to his room, he saw Hawke standing outside of Isabela's room, her hand on the closed door. Shaking his head and grinning, he began to approach her.

"Already thinking about seconds, Hawke?" he teased.

Hawke turned to him, eyebrow cocked, but she didn't say anything.

"Just a figure a speech when it comes to you two, of course," Varric went on, chuckling. "I'm sure you had your actual seconds very, very shortly after the first. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you and the Rivaini are trying to make up for the last three years. Actually, I don't know any better. Care to enlighten me, or should I just run with this story?"

"Something you want, Varric?" Hawke asked, as though he had not been talking just a moment ago.

"Bullshit it is, then," Varric decided, answering his own question. "And I just thought we could have a little chat, but since you asked, I have been meaning to talk to you about something."

"Yes?"

"I'm hoping this something turns out to be a whole lot of nothing," he started, sighing. "I'm worried about Daisy. She's been spending most of her days staring at that mirror. Isabela gets her to go outside every now and then, but it doesn't seem to do her any good."

Hawke faced him, completely turning her back on Isabela's room.

"What is she doing with the mirror?"

Varric shook his head.

"I don't know. She's not doing anything right now other than stare at it, which in itself is very concerning already. Isabela and I have been talking to her and it's gotten us nowhere. I think it'll be different if you do it, Hawke. I know that mirror is a touchy issue with you and Daisy, but maybe that's what will make her listen to you, or at least tell you what's going through her mind."

Hawke scowled, but eventually sighed.

"I'll talk to her."

Varric smiled gratefully.

"I'll head over to the Alienage with you if you want some company, or some back up. We don't have to go now if you and the Rivaini-"

He stopped talking when he realized Hawke was already walking away.

"I'll take that as a no," he said to the spot where Hawke had been.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> I apologize for the overload of fluff. It's embarrassing how long I've been working on this and I only have one chapter to show for it.

Also, in case anyone is curious, or I did an utterly horrible job of at least hinting these things: it's post-Legacy, set in Act 3; Isabela has confessed her love to Hawke and now they're a happy couple because angst makes me sad; Meredith hasn't asked Hawke to track down the three apostates yet.

I also ripped off some Legacy banter somewhere up there. Oh, and Bethany isn't in the Circle anymore because I thought it was ridiculous that Meredith was completely aware Anders was a mage, and yet she didn't throw him in the Gallows since he was the Champion's friend. If the Champion's friend gets a free pass then so should the Champion's sister.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Not making a profit, just having fun.

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><p><strong>.<br>**

**Three Is a Crowd**

**Chapter 02**

**.  
><strong>

Merrill stood before the broken Eluvian, looking wistful as she stared at the dull, dirty mirror that showed nothing, not even her reflection. One of her hands was pressed to her chest, clutching what appeared to be a crudely made carving tool. Her other hand, which was limp at her side, she slowly raised to touch a large crack on the glass.

She turned her palm up, revealing the fresh, jagged scars on it, then she glanced at her other hand and then back again at the mirror.

"What are you doing?"

Quickly realizing that she had not spoken those words, nor could it have been been the spirit since she wasn't even using magic in any way, Merrill squeaked in fright and jumped away from the source of the voice. After gathering her wits, she hurriedly grabbed her staff and spun around, flinging a blast of ice at her would-be assailant.

The intruder calmly stepped aside, evading the spell, and as Merrill readied another attack, she herself froze when she saw exactly who her would-be assailant was.

"H-Hawke?" she squeaked, nearly dropping her staff as she hastily put out her next spell. "Mythal, you scared me! You couldn't have tapped me on the shoulder first or made some noise before you-" she stopped in the middle of her rant and gave her surprise guest a questioning look. "I didn't hear you come in. Was the door open? Did I forget to lock it again?"

Instead of answering, Hawke slowly repeated herself, her tone threatening, dangerous.

"What are you doing?"

"I... I was-" Merrill started to say, but when Hawke's gaze suddenly focused on the floor, where she had dropped the carving tool, she just as suddenly blurted out, "It's not what you think it is! It's not the Arulin'Holm!"

Hawke only narrowed her eyes.

"It's only an... imitation," Merrill went on, sounding ashamed as she forced out the last word. "I fashioned it using a small piece of the Eluvian."

Hawke scoffed and, this time, had something to say.

"With blood magic."

If that biting statement had not made Merrill flinch, which it did, then she certainly would have when Hawke looked her right in the eye, which she certainly did.

"With blood magic," she confirmed through a stammer, even though there was no need for it. "My magic alone wouldn't have been enough. Even so, I wouldn't have known where to begin. I needed the spirit's help."

"Demon," Hawke snarled. "It's a demon and you're familiar with it."

"Yes, I'm familiar with it," Merrill freely admitted. "It's the same... spirit that has been helping me fix the Eluvian. I spoke to it recently and it offered to help me again. Creating an Arulin'Holm..." she trailed off, then sighed. "It's knowledge the Dalish no longer have. That's why, when Keeper Marethari handed it over to you, like it was so easy to deny the rest of the clan the Arulin'Holm if it meant denying me as well, I couldn't believe it. And I couldn't... I still can't believe that you-"

Hawke was quiet and simply kept looking at her, as if daring her to continue.

"I'm sorry," Merrill murmured, sheepish but sincere. "I realize this is upsetting for you, Hawke. You kept the Arulin'Holm to stop me from using blood magic, and here I am using it to make one for myself. It wasn't out of spite, I swear to you. You're my friend, Hawke."

"I think you're done mocking me," Hawke snapped..

"I... I wasn't," Merrill protested weakly, stunned by the response.

Hawke ignored her and looked at the mirror, then at the imitation Arulin'Holm.

"Does it work?"

Merrill turned to the mirror and sighed.

"No," she answered quietly, then she hesitated, as if she had something else to say, or something more.

"Good," Hawke said, turning to leave. "Keep it that way."

* * *

><p>After stopping by Elegant's and Worthy's shops to order potions and runes, Hawke went to the blacksmith at the Merchants Guild square. When she entered the workshop, she caught everyone's eye, everyone except the blacksmith's assistant, who was busy attending to the customers.<p>

The customers - among which were two dwarves, one from the Merchants Guild and another from the Carta, two women from the Coterie and one templar - had varying reactions to her presence. One dwarf turned his nose up at her and the other dwarf looked at her curiously. The templar sneered at her while the Coterie women regarded her amiably.

"Champion," the templar grunted, clearly more out of disdain than respect. "Here to retrieve your pets' weapons?"

Hawke smiled pleasantly at the man, so pleasantly, in fact, that it was practically taunting.

"I appreciate your concern, Ser," she said graciously, "but my beloved mabari has no need for weapons. A large, sturdy bone to sharpen his teeth with, perhaps, and maybe some more exercise, but aside from that, he requires minimal maintenance."

The templar bristled, his face turning so red it nearly rivalled his hair.

"That... that is not what I-" he sputtered indignantly. "You misunderstood me!"

"Have I?" Hawke asked innocently. "Were you not seeking to broaden your knowledge on mabari, Ser? Perhaps you wish to discuss the efficiency and advantages of having a war hound in battle?"

The templar gritted his teeth.

"No," he hissed. "I meant to say-"

"Oh! You want a mabari for yourself!" Hawke happily declared. "I'm afraid I've little help to offer, in that case. You must understand how delicate a situation it is. The decision, after all, is left in the mabari's hands... well, paws, if you want to get technical."

By then, snorts and snickers could be heard from the other customers, as all - if any- attempts at keeping quiet for the templar's sake had proven to be futile.

The templar wisely chose not to respond and instead bullied his way to the front of the line, all the while muttering bitterly about the Champion of Kirkwall and how she was as much a blight to the city as the mages.

"Champion," one of the Coterie women greeted her, and unlike the templar, she was actually being polite. "How fares business in the Bone Pit?"

The line moved. The templar stomped by, roughly bumping shoulders with Hawke. She, however, didn't budge, and as he walked out the door, she cheerfully made a rude gesture at him. Once the templar was gone, Hawke turned to the woman and grinned playfully.

"If I'm exchanging pleasantries with the Coterie and being addressed as Champion, then it's going very well, I'd say," she said, chuckling. "I assume Hubert is as cooperative as ever?"

"Of course," the woman said. "Hubert's always been a smart one."

"It was Brekker who was the idiot," the other Coterie woman griped. "I still can't believe he killed Lilley."

The first Coterie woman who had spoken, the lighter blonde between the two, touched her companion's arm in a comforting gesture and turned back to Hawke.

"I trust your shipments have been safe, Champion?"

Hawke nodded, still grinning.

"No trouble from your people, at least. Now I just have to worry about rampaging undead, giant spiders and Hubert pissing his expensive pants whenever I waste money on frivolous things, like safety equipment for the miners."

The dwarf from the Merchants Guild, who stood between Hawke and the Coterie women, made a disgusted sound.

"It's a business," he spat, "not a charity."

"Oh, Hubert will like you," Hawke remarked.

The other dwarf, who had looked wary ever since the templar was humiliated, seemed to have finally gathered the nerve to speak.

"Hawke, right?" he croaked. "Champion?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow.

"Is the Carta on Hubert's other payroll now, too? You really should talk to him instead, if so. Apparently, I am absolutely terrible at this sort of thing."

At the suspicious looks from the Coterie women, the dwarf squawked and flailed to deny it.

"No! Absolutely not. The Carta has no interest in the Bone Pit," he hastily explained, sighing in relief when the Coterie women appeared convinced and approached the blacksmith's assistant.

Hawke crossed her arms over her chest.

"Then why are we talking?" she asked, sounding guarded. "Forgive me if I'm a little rude, it's just that my recent encounters with the Carta were not so civil."

The dwarf chuckled nervously.

"Ah, yes, I... heard about that."

"One moment," Hawke said, peering at the dwarf. "Would you happen to know Anso?"

"Anso?" the dwarf echoed, then belted out more nervous chuckles. "No, I don't know anyone who goes by that name. It seems like an alias, if you ask me... but you didn't so, uh, is there a reason you asked?"

Hawke shrugged but she was smirking.

"No reason. Now, did you have something to tell me?"

The dwarf nodded.

"Ask you, actually. I have something to ask you. That is, if you wouldn't mind answering a question that is rather... personal- in a public area, with people within earshot..."

"My," Hawke drawled, "how compelling."

The dwarf took a deep breath.

"Did the Carta in the Vinmark mountains learn anything out there? What did they find?"

Hawke pondered the question for a minute.

"Well," she finally said, "they did learn one thing."

The dwarf stepped closer.

"Yes?"

"They found out..." Hawke started.

The dwarf shook in excitement.

"Yes? Yes?"

"They found out I'm not a virgin," Hawke said, looking completely serious.

The smile that had begun to form on the dwarf's face dropped, along with his jaw.

"They... they what? A-and you're what?"

The two Coterie women, on their way out, erupted into a hysterical fit of giggles. Hawke grinned smugly and bid farewell to the ladies with a wink and a wave.

"Humans," the dwarf from the Merchants Guild grumbled as he stepped to the front of the line.

The other dwarf, still painfully confused, kept staring and spouting nonsense.

"You're not a vir- n-not to say there's any shame to it, but... why would you tell them that...?"

Hawke gave the dwarf a helpful nudge.

"You're up next," she told him, pointing at the desk where the dwarf from the Merchants Guild and the blacksmith's assistant seemed to be finishing up.

The hapless dwarf slowly snapped out of his daze.

"I... I am," he realized, and looked at Hawke, as if debating whether or not it was worth asking her another question.

She smiled at him, the same way she had smiled at the templar.

The dwarf shook his head and scurried off to speak with the blacksmith's assistant.

After an exchange of words, coin and a set of finely crafted knives, the assistant's deep bellow rang loudly and clearly in the workshop.

"Next!"

Hawke walked up to the table, about to identify herself, but the assistant held up a hand to stop her and began flipping through the records.

"Hawke... Hawke..." the assistant absently mumbled as he searched for her name. "Ah, here it is. An order of a dozen custom made onyx throwing daggers and repairs on the following items: two greatswords - one onyx, one red steel - three staves - two aurum, one red steel - and the Champion's armor, silverite."

The assistant looked up when he was done reading. Hawke nodded at him and he glanced back down at the records, rubbing his beard as he flipped to a different page.

"We had to remove the enchantments on your equipment. The damage was bad but nothing we couldn't fix. Your daggers are packaged and ready to go," he said as he retrieved a box from a shelf nearby and placed it on the desk. "The staves and the swords are also good to go, but your armor's not done yet."

Hawke's shoulders sagged.

"What?" she blurted. "You said I could pick it up today."

"You can," the assistant insisted. "The master's working on it right now, just has to put the finishing touches and it should be as good as the day it was made. 'Only the best for the Champion of Kirkwall,' he says. Anyway, it won't take too long. Should be done in a few hours."

"A few hours," Hawke griped.

"Means you'll still be picking it up today, doesn't it?" the assistant quipped, chortling. "But, seriously, we're sorry for the inconvenience. To compensate, we'll enchant your weapons. Free of charge. "

Hawke sighed.

"A kind offer, but unnecessary. Besides, there's an eager enchanter back at my estate who will feel so betrayed and heartbroken should I return with equipment that have someone else's enchantments."

The assistant seemed confused, then just shrugged.

"Fair enough. Do you want to take the weapons with you now or should I hold on to them?"

Hawke thought about it for a moment.

"Hold them," she decided, then murmured to herself, "might as well find something to do while I'm here in Hightown."

"Can do," the assistant said. "See you in a few hours."

* * *

><p>As Fenris sat before the fireplace, drinking wine and watching the fire, there came the loud, unfamiliar sound of the door knocker striking plate. He had a visitor. A visitor who had the courtesy to knock, it seemed.<p>

He descended the stairs, wondering who was at the door. Aveline, he presumed. Maybe Donnic. There was something about the city guard and knocking, after all.

When he opened the door and saw his visitor, it turned out his first two guesses had been wrong.

"Hawke," he murmured, more to himself than her. "What brings you here?"

Hawke, who was holding two books against her chest, smiled warmly at him.

"Hello, Fenris," she addressed him just as warmly. "I was organizing my bookshelves and thought perhaps you would be interested in these," she said, indicating what she held in her arms. "I've been meaning to give these to you for weeks now, but with so much happening lately, it kept slipping my mind."

As Hawke presented the books to him, Fenris took them off her hands. He stepped aside to let her in and closed the door behind them. He glanced at the first book and froze when he read the title.

"The History of the Chantry?"

Hawke nodded.

"Sebastian had mentioned seeing you attending service."

"I was only delivering something," he said, too quickly, too defensively, and it was exactly the same excuse he had said to Sebastian.

Hawke let out a small, soft laugh.

"I'm not here to convert you, Fenris. Maker knows I'm not a suitable example of the Andrastian faith. I simply thought you might be curious about the Chantry. You certainly have no obligation to read the book."

Fenris read the title again, and although he had dropped his guard, he remained silent.

"Have I offended?" Hawke asked, frowning. "I apologize. I'll take the book back, if you like."

Fenris looked up from the book and shook his head.

"No need, Hawke. I do appreciate the thought, and should I feel curious enough, I will read it," he said, tucking the books under his arm and giving her a slight smile. "Would you like to come up?"

Hawke let out that small, soft laugh again.

"I would like that, yes."

With that, they quietly made their way to the master bedroom. Fenris waited until Hawke was seated before settling on a chair himself. He placed The History of the Chantry on the table and took a look at the other book. He found himself surprised a second time.

"The... History of the... Circle?" he haltingly mumbled, utterly stupefied.

Hawke looked at him expectantly.

"Yes?"

Fernis didn't answer. Instead, he opened the book and proceeded to riff through the pages.

"What are you doing?" Hawke asked, curious, maybe confused, but not amused.

"The ruse," Fenris grunted. "I'm trying to uncover it. This has to be some sort of trick, some sort of joke. What is it? Is this book The History of the Circle only on the cover? Am I to find the crude passages of Hard in Hightown beyond that? Did you insert the abomination's mad writings between the pages?"

"Do you really think I would something so callous, Fenris?"

The way Hawke had spoken, how she sounded so innocent and genuinely hurt by the accusation, it made Fenris pause. He stared at her, waiting for the slightest hint of humor and ready to jump at it, but the moment never came.

"I..." he started awkwardly. "Perhaps it was wrong of me to presume. Know that, had things been as I suspected, I would not have thought it so callous. It would have been a crude joke, and I have grown accustomed to its like, certainly around company like Varric and Isabela. Isabel, especially."

The instant Isabela's name was said, Hawke's face lit up.

"It does seem like her," she murmured fondly.

Fenris smirked a little.

"That, it does," he agreed, his gaze slowly returning to the book and his expression turning serious. "It seemed strange to receive something like this from you, considering your circumstance. I feel as though you are willingly arming me with more reasons to support the Circle. Or are you confident I will change my mind after I learn its history?"

"Fenris," Hawke said, her voice gentle, soothing. "I'm not trying to manipulate you. This isn't about converting you to the Chantry, nor is it about forcing you to sympathize with mages. To read those books, that's your choice, and so is what you do with that knowledge."

Fenris stared at the book, saw that the words in it were as real as Hawke's, and strangely, it left him speechless. When he found his voice, it was not to question or doubt.

"Thank you, Hawke," he whispered, feeling so humbled. "Danarius is still out there somewhere, plotting, searching, and knowing that... knowing that one day, he will come for me, it is overwhelming sometimes. It makes it so easy to forget I now possess that kind of freedom."

Hawke looked troubled.

"Maybe the books were a thoughtless gift."

He chuckled.

"It is more likely that I am just terrible at accepting gifts. I am grateful for the books, Hawke, as I will be for any you may give me in the future. Perhaps you should allow Isabela to slip dirty passages of Hard in Hightown between the pages. It may help me develop a sense of humor."

Hawke blinked at him, then slowly started to smile.

"You seem to be well on your way," she remarked.

Fenris chuckled again.

"Then there may be hope for me yet," he quipped, leaning back against his chair and glancing at the table. A moment later, he said, "Hawke."

"Yes?"

"Care for a drink before you go?"

* * *

><p>"Serah Hawke," Donnic, standing by the duty roster, called out to the Champion of Kirkwall when he saw her walk into the barracks.<p>

"Donnic," Hawke greeted back as the guardsman approached her. "How are you this morning?"

"I am well," he replied cheerfully. "And you, Serah Hawke?"

"Also well," she said, smiling. "Though, may I say something?"

"Of course."

"You need not be so formal with me. I know you have to remain professional with Aveline while you're on duty, but I'm not a guard," came the soft-spoken reminder.

Donnic grinned sheepishly.

"You are the Champion of Kirkwall, however," he pointed out.

"But I'm not a guard," Hawke repeated, teasing this time.

Donnic chuckled.

"True," he admitted, then, after considering it and shaking his head in amusement, he conceded. "Very well, Hawke. From now on, I will addressed you as such."

"Thank you," Hawke said, looking pleased.

Donnic smiled and nodded.

"Are you here to see the captain?" he asked.

"Yes," Hawke answered, then glanced at Aveline's office, or rather, at the closed door, something that was rarely the case. "If she's busy, however, I won't trouble her. I'm not here on an urgent matter."

"She's speaking with a templar," Donnic told her, not quite able to hide the disdain in his voice. "There was an incident last night in the Hanged Man. Typical bar brawl, really, but because Antivans were involved, the Order is questioning the captain's procedures."

"Because she isn't handling the situation any differently?" Hawke guessed.

Donnic scoffed.

"If the Order has its way, the Antivans will walk free. A show of Kirkwall hospitality, they would call it." He sighed and muttered, "Maker, I hate politics. I don't know how Aveline deals with it."

"Even Meredith wouldn't be able to sway Aveline," Hawke remarked.

"Perhaps not even the Maker Himself could," Donnic quipped, though he had done so with a proud look on his face. Then, he said, "You should be able to talk to the captain soon, Hawke. She never lets these templars stay longer than necessary. They may have claimed the keep but the barracks belongs to the Guard."

Hawke seemed amused.

"I'm in no hurry."

* * *

><p>A few minutes after Donnic had to leave for patrol, the door to Aveline's office swung open. A templar stepped out and, without pause, began to exit the barracks. He did stop, however, when he noticed the Champion of Kirkwall, but he did nothing more than glare at her and went on his way.<p>

Hawke watched the templar leave and, when he was gone, she walked into Aveline's office. The guard-captain was standing behind her desk, her arms crossed over her chest, her posture stiff and her jaw tensed.

"Hawke," was all Aveline said, then she pulled her chair up and sat down.

"Talk with the templar didn't go so well, Aveline?" Hawke guessed, taking a seat on a chair that was in front of the desk.

Aveline snorted.

"It never goes well," she grumbled, rubbing her temples to soothe a growing headache. "It's just a matter of how soon I can kick them out of my office. That one was especially persistent. I wouldn't be surprised if he comes back later."

"What is the templars' issue, exactly?" Hawke asked. "Donnic mentioned they would have the Antivans released, but why the specific concern?"

Aveline's expression turned sour.

"After that incident with Castillon, the Order - or so that one templar claims - thinks any further action taken against Antivans will give Kirkwall an anti-Antivan reputation. What nonsense. Where was this concern when anti-Fereldan was rampant in this city?"

Hawke regarded her curiously.

"Do you think a viscount would have had a different stand?"

Aveline didn't even need to think about her answer.

"It doesn't matter. My stand is clear. The only way those Antivans are leaving my brig early is if their captain posts bail. Otherwise, they'll serve their time, just like everyone else in that brawl."

"Their captain was not with them in the Hanged Man, I take it," Hawke observed, leaning back against the chair and crossing her legs.

"If he was, then he left before my guards got there," Aveline said, crossing her arms over her chest again. "He probably wasn't anywhere Lowtown, though. His kind, they send their men off to the cheap taverns while they enjoy imported wine and expensive whores."

"You think he was at the Blooming Rose, you mean," Hawke chimed.

"Where else?" Aveline drawled. "What about you, Hawke? Where were you last night?"

Hawke tilted her head at the sudden question.

"Is there a reason you're asking me this, Aveline?"

Aveline hesitated, but soon decided to speak up.

"I have two hungover Antivans in my brig who claimed the Champion of Kirkwall attacked them unprovoked. One of them even presented his teeth as evidence of the assault."

Hawke raised an eyebrow.

"And you believe them?"

"They were drunk," Aveline stated. "What they say has no merit and a couple of broken teeth isn't going to change that. I just found their story to be... oddly specific."

"I was with Isabela last night," Hawke said, smiling in a way that made it painfully obvious what it was she and the pirate had done.

"Oh, Maker," Aveline groaned, making a face. "Spare me the details. Please."

Hawke laughed.

"I wasn't offering."

Aveline rolled her eyes.

"Who knows what her influence - and any other part of her body you regularly come in contact with - has done to you? If those drunks told me a slutty pirate started the brawl, I would have believed them."

Hawke's laughter had long trailed off, but the smile remained.

"You would not," came the gentle tease.

"I would," Aveline insisted, glaring half-heartedly at her now grinning friend, "and that's without considering her recent dealings with Antivans. She's done something similar before. You remember, don't you? That duel that turned into a bar brawl and ended up laying waste to several merchant stalls?"

"I remember," Hawke murmured, smiling even more.

"And I remember your everyday visits to the brig the two weeks she was there," Aveline grumbled.

Hawke titled her head again.

"I was keeping a friend company."

Aveline suddenly frowned, suddenly looked worried.

"And what is she to you now, Hawke? I would be the first person to say that you are willing to go to great lengths for your friends, but the things you've done for her, helping her get that blasted relic, fighting the Arishok for her, smiling like a damn fool when she comes back three years later-"

"She came back," Hawke said with a confidence Aveline did not have for Isabela.

Aveline abruptly stood up, nearly slamming her hands down as she braced herself on the desk.

"She betrayed you," she snapped, or she tried to, but it hurt to be the one to say this to Hawke. "She left you, Hawke. She abandoned you. How could you just let her back into your life?"

"I love her."

The words, so simple, so honest, had Aveline wondering if she had heard right.

"You love her?"

Hawke smiled, looking about ready to laugh again..

"Is that such a surprise?"

Aveline slowly sank back into her seat and stared at Hawke for a long time before she managed to speak.

"Yes," she said at first. "No," she quickly amended, then she sighed and finally settled on her real answer. "I know you love her, Hawke. I just didn't expect to hear it from you, and if I did, I wouldn't have expected you to be so... forthright."

"I love her," Hawke repeated so easily, so freely.

Aveline was frowning again, and looking even more worried.

"But does she feel the same, Hawke?"

"She does," Hawke said, sounding like it was the most certain thing in the world.

Aveline didn't question it - found that she couldn't when she looked at Hawke and saw the same stupid, smitten, lovesick expression she must have had for Donnic - and so she did the next best thing. She made a promise and a threat, all rolled into one.

"If she breaks your heart again, Hawke, I will break her legs."

Hawke laughed.

"I'll be sure to tell her."

"Don't," Aveline grunted. "It'll be a surprise that way."

Hawke just shook her head, still with that unfamiliar, genuine smile.

"Well, Hawke," Aveline began, standing up, "since I turned your friendly visit into an interrogation, I'd like to make it up to you. It's noon, would you like to have lunch? I'll pay. I'll even let you choose where we eat." Before Hawke could say anything, she quickly added, "And, no, the Blooming Rose doesn't count. I want to eat food."

Hawke blinked.

"I wasn't going to say that."

"With you, Hawke, I can never be too careful," Aveline muttered, mostly to herself.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> I wrote this at least two weeks ago, I think. I don't remember what I wanted to say about it. Anyway, thanks for the reviews! The next chapter is done and I'll probably post it in a few minutes, or tomorrow, or the day after that. Well, whenever I decide to read it over, really!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Not making a profit, just having fun.

* * *

><p><strong>.<br>**

**Three Is a Crowd**

**Chapter 03**

**.**

"Welcome home, messere!"

Bodahn's usual, merry greeting rang loud as Hawke walked into the parlor. By the fireplace, Garrett, the Champion's mabari, sprang up on all fours and scrambled over to his mistress, barking frantically to get her attention.

"Hey, boy," Hawke murmured as she placed a hand on top of the dog's head and gave him a few good pats.

Garrett happily quieted down and enjoyed the attention, short tail wagging vigorously.

"There's a letter for you," Bodahn announced. "Strange how the messengers never come while you're away."

Hawke nodded and, after giving Garrett one last pat, she went over to the writing desk. She picked up the letter at the top of the pile, her eyes narrowing when she saw the Grand Cleric's seal on the envelope.

She read the letter which, given the length and structure, was more a note than a letter. When she was done, she tossed both the letter and the envelope in the fire and exited the estate.

* * *

><p>In the Chantry, Hawke found the Grand Cleric speaking with Sebastian.<p>

"Do you never intend to give a public answer, Your Grace?" he asked, to which the Grand Cleric responded with a question of her own.

"What have I been asked?"

"About the mages!" Sebastian exclaimed. "You could calm this fire if you stepped forward."

The Grand Cleric looked at him as though he was merely a child.

"The Chantry's teachings are clear. Those who turn against them would not listen more to me than to Andraste."

It was then that Hawke had approached them, and, having heard the last of their conversation, she scowled at them both.

"Orsino and the knight-commander will tear Kirkwall apart," she snarled.

"They will try," the Grand Cleric said, facing the Champion and sighing deeply. "I gather you have received my message, Champion. I thank you for the swift response."

Sebastian gasped.

"You summoned her here, Your Grace?"

The Grand Cleric nodded.

"I did not expect things to deteriorate so fast. I thought after the Qunari, no one would wish for more violence. It has drawn more attention than I would like. Sebastian, if I can ask-"

"Anything, Your Grace," he eagerly responded.

The Grand Cleric smiled and then turned to Hawke.

"And Champion, too, if you will?"

Hawke scoffed.

"I agree to nothing until I know what it is."

"Hawke!" Sebastian chided. "This is the Grand Cleric you are speaking to. I would ask that you show her the respect she is due!"

"It is quite all right, Sebastian," the Grand Cleric assured him, pacifying him immediately, and then she nodded at Hawke. "The Divine is concerned about the situation. She does not want to see the Free Marches become another Imperium. She has sent an agent to... assess danger. Meet with her, please. Tell her drastic measures won't be required."

Hawke shrugged.

"Don't you want an end to this?"

"Has Kirkwall not suffered enough?" the Grand Cleric asked, frowning. "Should it be declared anathema and an enemy of the Chantry? Imagine Hightown's streets, filled not only with Meredith's templars but all the forces the Divine can command."

Sebastian furrowed his brows.

"Surely the Divine wouldn't treat the whole city as enemies."

"She is concerned," the Grand Cleric stressed. "It is never wise to draw the concern of the powerful.

"She is the voice of Andraste," Sebastian protested, though he sounded more confused than enraged. "She cannot turn the might of the Chantry against the innocent due to... proximity."

"Were no innocents harmed in the Exalted Marches?" the Grand Cleric countered. "She will do her best, Sebastian, but she must act first to protect the faith."

Hawke crossed her arms over her chest.

"How is any of this my concern?"

"No one else's words bear more weight, Champion," the Grand Cleric said. "If you do not do this, we will have war."

Sebastian walked up to Hawke.

"Hawke, be serious," he pleaded. "We must do this."

"Tch. Now you feel compassion for mages?" she muttered in disgust. "Just three years ago, you refused to enter the Fade to help a mage because you were too much of a coward," she snapped, "too afraid that this faith you ceaselessly gloat about won't be any match for the first demon you see, and then you had the gall to demand that I turn him tranquil."

Sebastian stepped back, surprised by her outburst.

"That is... different, I was..." he stuttered, glancing at the Grand Cleric then nervously looking back at Hawke. "We are all the Maker's creatures, but magic allows abuses beyond the scope of mortals." he said, repeating words the Grand Cleric had once spoken. "That is not to say every mage should be condemned simply for being. Bethany is th-"

Hawke cut him off, swiftly grabbing the front of his armor and then gripping his throat.

"You will never speak of my sister again."

"Champion-" the Grand Cleric started to say.

"Never," Hawke growled, squeezing Sebastian's throat. "Understand?"

Sebastian nodded frantically. Hawke loosened her grip and shoved him back roughly. As the prince coughed and backed away from her, the Champion looked at the Grand Cleric and spoke as though nothing had happened.

"What can you tell me about this servant of the Divine?"

The Grand Cleric hesitated, but after getting a nod from Sebastian, she responded.

"I was not told her real name, only to call her Sister Nightingale. She will be in the Viscount's throne room tonight. The room has been sealed since the Qunari incident. It may be difficult to get in without attracting attention."

Hawke nodded.

"That won't be a problem."

She adjusted her gauntlet - the one worn on the hand she had nearly choked Sebastian with - then left.

* * *

><p>Isabela, who had woken up earlier than she would have liked because of her growling stomach, was having a late lunch with Merrill at the Hanged Man. She had found the elf eating alone and had immediately joined her after ordering a meal and a couple of drinks.<p>

They were sitting at her favorite table, which had miraculously survived the brawl. The tavern itself had mostly been restored to its former, filthy glory, made possible by Norah and Edwina's return.

Isabela was looking at Merrill, watching as the elf poked at her food with a fork. Merrill, Isabela noticed, had barely eaten and had been quiet the whole time, and the pirate had waited, and waited, and still, the eerie silence dragged on.

"Kitten," she finally sighed, her patience gone and her concern growing, becoming unsettling, "are you going to tell me what's wrong or what?"

"Wrong?" Merrill squeaked, dropping the fork and clumsily making a grab for it. "Nothing's wrong, Isabela! Nothing at all. I was just... wondering what kind of seasoning they used on the soup. Ooh, do you know what it is, Isabela? Is it expensive? I hope not. I think it would be lovely to try on-"

"Merrill..."

"- I'm not very good at lying, aren't I?"

Isabela shook her head.

"I wasn't lying about the seasoning, though," Merrill added.

"We'll ask Corff about it later, Kitten," Isabela said, patting the elf's hand. "Now, tell me what's bothering you and when that's taken care of, I'll tell you all the naughty things Hawke did to me last night. She said such the filthiest things, too. Oh, I loved it. I got back at her this morning, of course. I had to. It was fun, but I couldn't let her think she could get away with being on top, not like that."

Merrill squirmed in discomfort.

"We could talk about that instead, Isabela," she mumbled. "I don't mind."

Isabela frowned, all thoughts of Hawke and sex immediately set aside.

"What's this about, Kitten?" she asked.

Merrill fidgeted in her seat, bit her lip, wrung her fingers, and when she couldn't seem to think of anything else to do, she took a long, deep breath and hesitantly looked at Isabela.

"Isabela, were you the one who-" she stopped, hesitated, but at the pirate's concerned expression, she tried again. "Did you say something to Hawke about the Eluvian?"

"No, I didn't," Isabela said without trouble or delay. "Why would I? You've just been staring at it, right?"

Merrill began to poke the food on her plate again as she rambled in her usual way.

"She came by my house this morning. We talked a little. Very little. She didn't say much, but maybe it was because she was... very upset that I was showing interest in the Eluvian again. I didn't mean to upset her. I wanted to explain but she left in such a hurry, I didn't get the chance."

"Very upset?" Isabela murmured, not realizing Merrill hadn't really answered her question. "What do you mean, Merrill?"

The elf suddenly looked worried.

"Will this... will you and Hawke argue about this? Oh, please don't, I've caused enough trouble already. Let me speak to her, Isabela," she insisted, though her voice was shaking. "This is about the Eluvian and it's between Hawke and me. I don't want to put you in the middle of it."

Isabela sighed, feeling like she already was.

"I think it's better if I talk to her first, Kitten," she said, somberly getting back to her food and hoping Hawke would show up early.

* * *

><p>Isabela's wish was granted, it seemed, because not an hour after Merrill had left the Hanged Man, Hawke came strolling in.<p>

Not wasting time, Isabela approached her lover, who smiled beautifully upon seeing her.

"'Bela," Hawke murmured happily, pulling her into a sweet embrace and giving her an even sweeter kiss on the lips.

Isabela, surprised but delighted with that smile and the show of affection following it, decided to indulge a little longer and drew Hawke back in for another kiss, a move her lover eagerly reciprocated.

"I'm happy to see you, too, sweet thing," Isabela purred when she was free to speak, giggling as she pressed her body further against Hawke's. "But," she eventually, reluctantly said, "before we can have any more fun, we need to have a little chat."

Hawke blinked, the glazed look in her blue eyes disappearing.

"What about?"

Isabela glanced around, noting how the number of customers had nearly doubled since she had woken up. She also noticed that, of course, most eyes were on them, as was the norm when it came to being in the company of the Champion of Kirkwall.

They couldn't talk here. The knight-commander had ears everywhere. Meredith may have released Bethany from the Circle and tolerated Anders and Merrill, but if word got out that the Champion's mage friends were an abomination and a blood mage, the knight-commander would surely lose the rest of her mind and start a war.

Isabela didn't fancy the idea of being the cause of another war.

With a meaningful look, Isabela took Hawke's hand and lead her lover to her room. When they got there, Isabela locked the door and sat on the bed, tugging Hawke down to sit beside her.

"What is it you wanted to talk about, Isabela?" Hawke asked. "It must be serious if you felt we needed privacy. Is this about Merrill? Anders?"

"Oh, how perceptive of you, sweet thing," Isabela cooed, and while she really was genuinely impressed, she couldn't help but tease. "But what if I just wanted to get you alone? Away from all those curious eyes, hm?"

Hawke laughed.

"Did you?"

Isabela's smirk turned into a pout.

"I wish, but we really should have that little chat." With a sigh, she went on, "You're right. It's about Merrill- about that mirror of hers, specifically, and blood magic, I suppose. Ugh, I don't really know what she's doing with that thing but it's not the point."

Hawke blinked.

"It's not?"

"No," Isabela said firmly, but those confused, innocent blue eyes had thrown her off a bit. "Look, Hawke, I know you don't approve of the blood magic or the mirror that probably killed people and made Merrill do blood magic in the first place-"

"Whatever this is about, 'Bela," Hawke cut in, "it isn't sounding very convincing."

"Hush, let me finish," Isabela chided, giving her lover a gentle swat on the arm. "Now, where was I? Right, bad magic, bad mirror. I don't like it, either, but don't you think you're being a little hard on Merrill? It's been six years, Hawke, and that mirror is as useless as ever."

"But is it harmless?" Hawke countered. "It's comforting to think so, but how long can we keep at it? Merrill's obsession with the Eluvian drove her to blood magic, Isabela. If she's actively looking for another way to repair it, I'm going to stop her. I'll destroy the Eluvian, if I must."

"I don't think it'll come to that," Isabela blurted, cringing at how ignorant she sounded.

"I'm hoping it won't," Hawke said, reaching for hand and offering a comforting squeeze. "If I've been antagonizing Merrill, then I'm sorry. I'll apologize to her the next time I see her and I'll try to be more courteous should she and I have another discussion about blood magic."

Isabela sighed, suddenly feeling a weight on her shoulders, and leaned on Hawke for support.

"I suppose I could do more to discourage her," she mumbled, not exactly thrilled with the idea.

Hawke squeezed her hand again.

"Whatever you do, don't make an enemy of her, 'Bela. Merrill already has Anders and Fenris debasing her at every chance, and while she can easily call me a friend these days, I doubt she'll ever trust me again."

"Well, you did say you were going to give her that carving tool," Isabela quipped.

"I refused to help, at first," Hawke reminded her. "Then, you and Varric went with her to Sundermount and I found out you three were trapped in a cavern with a varterral..."

"Details," Isabela huffed, waving it off.

Hawke smiled and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"For what it's worth, I think you're right about Merrill," the Champion said sweetly. "She has a good heart, it's in the right place, and I think she cherishes you and Varric for seeing it. She doesn't deserve to have that taken away from her."

"Wow," Isabela breathed, matching her lover's smile with her own. "When did you become so thoughtful?"

Hawke frowned a little.

"Is that a compliment?"

"Can't tell, sweet thing?" Isabela teased, laughing. "Let me give you a proper one, then. We've got time," she purred, kissing Hawke and pushing her down on the bed.

* * *

><p>"So, that apostate buddy of yours showin' up tonight?"<p>

Varric looked up from his mug. Across his table sat a tall, muscular man with large ears and a beard that male dwarves not named Varric Tethras would envy.

The man, Gallard, was a Coterie thug Varric had invited for a drink and a chat. Gallard, like a few other regulars in the Hanged Man, occasionally played cards with their little group and was currently waiting on payment from Anders who, a few nights ago, foolishly ignored Varric's advice and decided to play a bad hand.

"I don't think Blondie's going to be gambling again any time soon, Gallard," Varric said, shaking his head as he remembered how Anders had begged him to talk to the man.

"Hah," Gallard snorted. "He's got more brains than balls, after all, eh? Still gotta pay up, though."

"I figured," Varric muttered. "How much does he owe you?"

Gallard, slowly realizing what exactly was going on, took a long, loud swig and noisily smacked his lips in satisfaction.

"Ya know what I want, Varric," he slurred, grinning maniacally. "I want that bastard's ear. Got me a hatter and everythin'. And it better be the right ear, ya got that? Gonna ruin my hat if it ain't the right ear."

Resisting the urge to ask if there was a wrong ear, Varric set his mug down and calmly stared back at Gallard.

"All right," he said a moment later. "First of all, I have to say that a human looking to make a hat out of human ears is right up there with things that scare to piss out of me. It's a ways below Aveline but it's up there. Second, wouldn't you rather have a hat filled with coins than a hat made of ears?"

"Hmm," Gallard droned, rubbing his long, bushy beard. "How much are we talkin' here?"

Varric shrugged.

"How much is an apostate's ear worth to you?"

Gallard belted out a horrid cackle.

"But this ain't just any apostate," he crowed, gesturing wildly with his arms and spilling ale on Varric's floor. "This apostate's a friend of the Champion, ain't he? And he's also the guy runnin' that free clinic over at Darktown. Quite a reputation on your buddy there, Varric.

"And?" Varric asked coolly.

"And," Gallard mocked, "with a reputation like that, it's gettin' a bit hard for some of us in the Coterie to keep pretendin' he doesn't exist, ya know? And I was thinkin' maybe you could help with that, give us the right amount of encouragement to keep playin' pretend."

With a shake of his head, Varric tossed several pouches of coin on the table. Gallard guffawed merrily as he collected the pay.

"You're a smart dwarf, Varric," he remarked, actually sounding sincere. "That's what I like about you."

"Thanks. That means so much to me," came Varric's dry response.

Not minding it, Gallard opened each of the pouches and proceeded to closely inspect and count the coins inside. As he was checking the second pouch, he appeared to have gotten yet another bright idea. He rubbed his beard and then smirked at Varric.

"I was thinkin'," the Coterie thug said, "that elf who likes to cut through alleys in Lowtown at night, the one we're supposed to ignore... she's friends with the Champion, too, ain't she?"

For a while, Varric simply sat there, daring Gallard to say it again.

Gallard kept smirking, the words written all over his smug face.

Varric narrowed his eyes.

Gallard started to narrow his own eyes but suddenly, he went rigid, his eyes bulging out before rolling back into his skull, and then, just as suddenly, his body fell forward and crashed on the table.

There was a dagger stuck to the back of his head.

"Shit," Varric cursed, scrambling out of his seat and reaching for Bianca.

His hands fumbled when he saw who was standing at the doorway.

"Hawke?" he squawked, almost dropping Bianca.

"Varric," came the eerily pleasant response.

As it sunk in that there was now a dead man slumped on his table and it was Hawke who had killed the man, Varric began to stutter like Merrill.

"What are you- when did you even ge- how did you even-" he stopped, took several deep breaths, and then, in the most confused, hysterical way, he howled, "Why did you do that?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow at him, looking at him like he was crazy.

"He was bothering you," she simply said, sauntering over to the corpse and pulling her dagger free as though she was plucking a flower from a garden.

"You were there the whole time?" Varric squawked again, shaking his head as Hawke wiped the dagger on Gallard's clothes to get the blood off. "You could have said something before you decided to kill him. I'm pretty sure you would have scared him off with the look you're giving me right now."

"No," she said with the same clipped, cold tone. "I was passing by. Your door was open."

This time, it was Varric who was staring as though he was looking at a crazy person.

"You're telling me that in that small window of time, you somehow came to the conclusion he was 'bothering me' and decided to kill him," he ranted, stressing the last four words.

Hawke, satisfied that her dagger was clean enough, tucked the weapon away and looked at Varric with a deadpan expression.

"Was I wrong?"

"Well..." Varric faltered, unsure if that had been a question, a challenge or a threat.

"No, I wasn't," she answered for him, grinning smugly. "I'm never wrong."

It was completely inappropriate - and maybe that was the reason why he did it - but Varric laughed, and as he did, he felt a strange sense of relief, as if it was only now that the danger had passed.

He sat back down and indicated Gallard's corpse with a nod.

"The Coterie won't be happy about that-" he stopped, saw Hawke's face light up like a mabari that was just told it was play time, and without hesitation, he insisted, "I'll handle it, make sure they don't find out."

"Spoilsport," Hawke huffed, saying it exactly as Isabela would.

"Well, maybe I'd be a lot more fun if I didn't have to clean blood off my new carpet," Varric grumbled. "Do you know how hard it is to get human blood out of that kind of material?" he then joked, because he really wasn't too broken up about Gallard's death, not when the bastard threatened Merrill.

Hawke shrugged and kicked Gallard's body to the floor, revealing the coin he had collapsed on. She snatched up a bloody pouch and flung it across the table. The pouch bounced once then landed within easy reach in front of Varric.

"Looks like you have the coin to spend on a new carpet," she quipped.

"Heh," Varric grunted, smirking. "Looks that way."

He placed Bianca on his lap and shook his head, absently wondering just how many times he had shaken his head in the past fifteen minutes.

"At least Blondie doesn't have to worry about that IOU on his ear anymore."

If Varric had been paying attention to Hawke when he said that, he would have seen her blue eyes turn hard and cold, and he would have seen how furious and dangerous she suddenly looked.

"Anders is here?"

The question, spoken slowly and calmly, kept Varric mostly focused on Bianca.

"Here at the Hanged Man? No," he murmured, distracted. "He's usually in the clinic at this hour, isn't he?" Happy that there wasn't a single scratch or drop of blood on Bianca, he looked up and said, "That reminds me, how did it go with Dai-"

For the second time that day, Varric stopped talking because Hawke was walking away. This time, however, she wasn't just walking. She was stalking off like an angry beast, growling curses and other things he couldn't quite understand.

Varric stared at empty doorway, then at the corpse on his floor, and lastly, on his lap.

"Bianca," he whispered, giving his beloved crossbow a gentle pat, "you're the only woman I'll ever understand."

* * *

><p>Isabela, breathless and basking in the afterglow, smiled when she felt the arm around her waist pull her closer and then felt her lover's warm, naked body press further against her back. Hawke nuzzled her and trailed kisses from her shoulder to her neck, hot breath and sweat-slicked hair tickling her.<p>

"Another?" Hawke whispered raggedly, punctuating the eager, hopeful plea with a gentle bite on the neck.

"You want more, sweet thing?" Isabela asked, giggling, and Hawke responded with a gesture that pleasantly surprised her. "Oh," she said a moment later, then began to giggle again. "Well, you're definitely up for it, aren't you?"

Hawke laughed with her and kissed the spot on her neck that would surely have a mark later.

"It's all right if you don't want to," the Champion sweetly told her. "We can just cuddle."

Isabela blinked. She never thought there would come a day when someone - even Hawke, especially Hawke - would say those words to her. It made her feel strange, strange in a way that she wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss Hawke or hit her.

Given their position, she opted for the latter and lightly smacked Hawke's arm.

"I didn't say I didn't want to," she said with a huff.

"I said 'if', 'Bela," Hawke reasoned, and it was utterly sincere. "And I quite enjoy cuddling with you, so it would not have been a terrible alternative."

"Yes, well," Isabela huffed again, or tried to, but she was too busy wondering why the honest remark was making her blush. "I just thought I should make it clear," she went on, rubbing Hawke's arm in apology. "You surprised me, you know, considering all the sex we've already had..."

"That was... a lot to you?" Hawke asked, sounding truly, innocently confused.

Isabela gave Hawke another smack on the arm.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Stop... making it seem like I don't want sex," Isabela griped, squirming indignantly in Hawke's embrace but not nearly miffed enough to get out of it. "I do want it," she said with conviction, "and I want it with you- right now, preferably after I stop babbling like a bloody idiot. It's just... balls, are you sure you're a Hawke? Because you seem part rabbit to me."

Right after her rant had ended, Hawke chuckled.

"Last I checked I was part Amell."

Isabela rolled her eyes, glad Hawke couldn't see that she was smiling.

"Marian," she said.

"Hm?"

"Shut up and fuck me."

Hawke, it turned out, needed no further encouragement. Those soft lips were back on her neck, leaving bites and kisses before moving down to her shoulder and then back up, to her jaw, her cheek and then her ear.

Isabela shivered, not because of the kisses or the hot breath or the wet tongue, but because of the stupid, silly sweet nothings Hawke was whispering to her. She shivered even more when Hawke let go of her waist and began to languidly stroke her flat belly.

"Hawke," she gasped, squirming in delight under Hawke's palm and fingers.

It was amazing, alarming and sort of embarrassing how good a simple belly rub felt, but it felt so good that Isabela didn't quite care how she was already panting and ready. The feeling was oddly familiar, though she couldn't imagine that her past experience had been as intense or half as wonderful.

Hawke's hand moved higher and stopped just under her breasts, making her abandon her attempts at revisiting an old memory. Her focus was immediately fixed on what was happening now, of what Hawke was doing to her - of what Hawke was making her feel - and not what some random person did to her in some random place.

"You blasted tease," she whined when that hand slid back down, and then her whine turned into a long moan when Hawke went past her navel and kept going lower.

Isabela looked down, wanting to see Hawke touch her.

She blinked. Once, twice, many, many times, but what she was seeing didn't change.

Hawke's hand was glowing, like magic.

Hawke's hand was glowing with magic.

There were tiny sparks and lightning coming out of Hawke's hand, and Hawke was about to touch her, right between the legs.

"Maker's balls, no!" Isabela shrieked, launching off the bed and hitting the floor head first.

"'Bela!"

Squeezing her eyes shut and gritting her teeth, Isabela clutched her head and slowly rolled to her knees. She sensed some movement nearby and heard her name again, more urgent and frantic this time. When she managed to open her eyes, Hawke was in front of her, looking worried and guilty.

"'Bela, I'm so sorry."

Isabela was about to sputter and yell at Hawke - something along the lines of, "Why are you apologizing to me? It's absolutely darling, but magic! Magic, magic, magic!" - but then Hawke gently held her head and those hands started glowing again.

"I'm sorry," Hawke apologized again, no less sincere than before. "I didn't think it was too much."

As the pain faded - a healing spell, Hawke was using a healing spell on her - Isabela remembered why the magic touch had been familiar. It was like Anders' electricity thing, only it felt better, a lot better, but now was really not the time to think about that.

Because Hawke didn't have magic. Hawke wasn't supposed to have magic.

"Hawke!" she exclaimed, grabbing Hawke's still glowing hands and waving them in front of her lover. "You have magic!"

Hawke was aghast.

"You're really hurt. Maker, I'm so sorry. Here, let me-"

"No!" Isabela snapped, swatting Hawke's hands away.

"'Bela, you're not well-"

"Will you stop fussing? I'm fine!" Isabela growled, hurriedly getting to her feet. "See? Now put those away," she ordered, gesturing at Hawke's hands, but then a horrible thought came to mind. "You can do that, right? Balls, please tell me you can make it go away."

Hawke, clearly not wanting to aggravate her further, obediently stopped channelling the spell and held up her now perfectly normal-looking hands.

"Good. That's good. Now we just have to... figure this out," Isabela said, then proceeded to pace around the room. "Aren't you too old for this? I mean, doesn't magic show up around childhood or something? Ugh, I don't know these things!" she ranted, not noticing the concerned look Hawke was giving her.

"Maybe we should-"

Hawke tried to speak, but Isabela wasn't having any of it.

"Why are you so damn calm about this? And why are you going about, casting spells like you know what you're doing? You could have fried my insides or blown my head up!" the pirate howled, facing her lover and resisting to urge to shake some sense into that pretty thing. "Shit," she hissed, realizing something. "The magic's messed up your head, hasn't it? Shit, shit, shit."

"Maybe..." Hawke cautiously tried again, and, hearing no complaints from Isabela, finally spoke up. "Maybe we should see Anders."

Isabela stopped pacing and looked at Hawke in awe.

"That is a brilliant idea," she said, pulling her lover up and kissing her. "Now, come on, get dressed," she cooed, groping the Champion's exposed backside and giving it a playful swat. "You don't need to be naked for Anders to check your head."

Hawke blinked as Isabela turned around and bent over to pick up clothes.

"But-"

"I know, sweet thing," Isabela crooned, finding Hawke's pants and tossing them at her lover. "Now be a good girl and cover yours."

Hawke caught the pants and just stood around for a while, watching Isabela masterfully put her clothes on and clearly enjoying every second of it. Then, as if deciding it was futile to argue, Hawke did as she was told and began to put her pants on.

* * *

><p>In record time, Isabela was tugging Hawke out of her room, both of them completely dressed. Hawke, however, didn't feel compelled to run like her ass was on fire, so Isabela, feeling either panic or sexual frustration setting in, was gaining ahead a few steps.<p>

"Isabela!" came Hawke's cheerful voice, though it sounded strangely distant. "I was starting to wonder if you had gone-"

"Not now, sweet thing," Isabela interrupted, looking over her shoulder to glare at her lover, who, for some reason, was wide-eyed and suddenly unable to move. "Hawke!" she snapped. "This is no time to react how you should have minutes ago! We have to-"

She was cut off when she walked straight into a what felt like a wall of plate.

"'Bela!"

"Balls," Isabela hissed as she staggered back from what had to be a pretty hard hit because she was sure Hawke's voice had echoed, or Hawke had said her name twice, possibly at the same time.

She looked up, ready to give the rude wall of plate a piece of her mind, but when she saw that it was actually plate armor and saw who was wearing it, she could only say one thing.

"H-Hawke...?" Isabela stuttered. "But you're supposed to be-"

Realizing there was something in her grasp, she quickly whipped around and sure enough, there was Hawke, and there was her hand on Hawke's arm. She then mechanically turned back around and just as surely, there was Hawke - another Hawke - standing in front of her, with the same wide-eyed expression as the other.

Isabela yanked her hand back and kept a safe distance from both Hawkes, who were now looking at each other. In the middle of the frightfully intense staredown, one of the Hawkes chuckled.

"I'm impressed," came the drawl, followed soon by some slow clapping. "Did Anders learn a new shapeshifting spell? Did I arrive too early? I imagine you two were supposed to find some cozy corner in the tavern and pretend to be locked in a passionate embrace when I walk in."

"What?" Isabela blurted out before the other Hawke could get a word in. "He can do that? No. No! Impossible! And even if he could, there is no way he would ever-" she stopped and gawked. "The magic, the-the electricity thing! And... and you kept trying to tell me something. Is this what you were trying to- shit, I fucked Anders."

The first Hawke who had spoken blinked.

"That's going a bit far to make me jealous, don't you think, Isabela?"

If the plate armor and the big sword had not convinced Isabela that this was her Hawke, then the inappropriate humor sure would have.

"That one is definitely mine," Isabela murmured.

Without hesitation, she stood by her Hawke, but when she looked at the other Hawke - when she saw that heartbroken look she had easily seen on her own Hawke - she felt as terrible as the day she ran away three years ago.

"I'm not Anders," the other Hawke said, her pleading blue eyes lingering on Isabela before turning to her look-alike. "Isabela is right. Anders wouldn't be interested in this sort of thing and Justice would never allow it. Barring that, he's not capable of such magic. If he were, he would have used it years ago so the templars here would lose track of him."

"Good point," Isabela's Hawke admitted, but remained guarded and suspicious. "But that doesn't explain why you're here or who you are or... what you are, really."

The other Hawke smiled sadly at Isabela before responding.

"I don't think I can give you the answer you're looking for. This is as strange to me as it is to you both," she started, then sighed. "Though, judging by Isabela's surprise with my magic, I believe it's safe to say that I'm the one who doesn't belong here."

"You're a mage?" Isabela heard her Hawke murmur. "And you and Isabela...?"

"I thought she was you!" Isabela protested.

Her Hawke looked at the other Hawke then turned to her with a silly grin.

"I suppose it was an easy mistake to make."

"I apologize," the mage Hawke said. "I had no ill intentions towards her. I really thought she was... my Isabela."

"So," the warrior Hawke began, "if this isn't some sort of trick or illusion and you're not some kind of demon, then you were fooled just as much as Isabela was. You really are just like me, then? Well, not counting the magic, of course."

"I don't think 'fooled' is the right word," the mage Hawke remarked, "but, yes, I wasn't aware anything was amiss. I was simply going about my day. I loaned Fenris some books, had lunch with Aveline and then I came here to see 'Bela."

"Wait," Isabela cut in. "If that's all you've done today so far, then..." she looked at her Hawke and asked, "It was you I spanked this morning?"

Her Hawke actually blushed.

"Um. Yes. That was me."

The door nearby opened and revealed an amused-looking Varric.

"Rivaini, if you're going to start talking about spanking, you should really take that to your ro- oh, Hawke," he said to one Champion, "didn't think you'd still be here since you-" he saw the other Champion and his eyes nearly bugged out like Gallard's had. "Hawke? Hawke and... Hawke?"

"Yes," Isabela drawled, "we're still trying to figure it out, too."

Varric looked from one Hawke to the other and then shrugged.

"All right. If you ladies would allow me to be ignorant a little longer, I have a question," he said, stepping aside and pushing his door all the way open to reveal Gallard's corpse. "Which of you lovely ladies did that?"

"Is that Gallard?" the warrior Hawke asked. "Maker, he's made a mess of your carpet."

"Wasn't you, then," Varric concluded.

"I've been with Isabela ever since I arrived here," the mage Hawke said.

Isabela was the first to speak up after that.

"Wait. You didn't do that?" she asked her Hawke, who grinned crookedly.

"Pissing off the Coterie wasn't on my list of errands, no."

"Hawke."

"Do you mean her or me?"

"Hawke!"

"I haven't spoken to Varric all day."

Satisfied with that response, Isabela turned to the mage Hawke.

"And you haven't, either. So..."

All three of them then looked at Varric.

"Well, that's weird," Varric mumbled as he closed his door. "All I know is, I've seen a Hawke twice today. First time was when I caught her at your door. I asked her to talk to Merrill and she said yes. Well, she growled yes, if you want me to be specific."

"Growled?" Isabela echoed. "Was she... rude, short-tempered, violent and sneaky?"

Varric thought about it, then nodded.

"Sounds about right, Rivaini."

"Oh, Maker's balls, there's three of them," Isabela groaned, smacking her face with her palm. "She's the one who started the brawl last night. And I fucked her, too! Well... she fucked me, more like."

"Oh, dear," the mage Hawke murmured.

Isabela glanced at her Hawke, who pouted.

"I'm really starting to feel jealous now, 'Bela."

"I thought she was you!"

"Varric," the mage Hawke called, drawing everyone's attention, "what else can you tell us about this... Hawke?"

Varric grinned.

"So sensible. You're definitely not the Hawke I know," he quipped, ignoring the indignant yelp from the warrior Hawke. "Anyway, I can't say much because she didn't say much. Seemed really grumpy this morning and apparently felt murderous by afternoon. Wonder how she'd feel if she decides to drop by and see Blondi- oh, shit."

Isabela sighed.

"That's never good."

"What is it, Varric?" the mage Hawke asked.

"I'll tell you the whole thing on the way," Varric said, locking his door and signalling everyone to follow him out. "Long story short, I may or may not have gotten Blondie killed."

"May or may not?" the warrior Hawke parroted.

"We'll find out when we get there," Varric barked as he nearly tripped, "and for Blondie's sake, we better get there fast!"

* * *

><p>Anders was hunched over his desk, reading over the most recent pages of his manifesto, something he tended to do while he waited for a patient to come in. Satisfied, he pulled out several blank papers and began to make copies. He would need at least three copies for Hawke alone, as his manifesto tended to end up in her fireplace or left forgotten in her books.<p>

It was late afternoon, which in Darktown meant it was going to be as dark as night. He went outside and made the lamp burn brighter. He glanced around briefly, keeping an eye out for templars or Coterie. Finding only rats and dung, he retreated back into his clinic and went back to his manifesto.

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps outside, but there came no knock on the door or a call for a healer. Then, light through the cracks of the walls and the doors slowly began to dim.

Anders grabbed his staff and stayed behind the door.

"Hello?" he called out. "Is someone there?"

There was no answer, and he was sure he didn't hear those footsteps go as they had come. Cautiously, he opened the door and peeked outside. He saw no one, but he did see that the lamp hanging by the door had been put out.

"Ugh," he groused. "Damn kids and their pranks."

He discreetly lit the lamp with his magic, hung it back against the door and went back inside his clinic. He put his staff away and sat behind the desk, dipping the quill in the ink bottle as he looked over what he had copied so far.

He pressed the quill to the paper, about to write, but suddenly, something cold and hard clamped around the back of his head. A hand covered in a gauntlet, he realized, as he winced at the painful pull at his hair and felt the talon-like fingertips dig into his scalp. He gasped and struggled, but another hand grabbed his shoulder, shoving him forward and pinning him.

"Wh-" was all he could manage before his face was smashed on the desk.

As Anders crumpled to the floor, a swift, powerful kick struck him right in the stomach and knocked him on his back. The same foot was then brought down on his chest, forcing the air out of him so fast it felt as though he was choking.

"I didn't say you could come back."

Anders blinked. He barely recognized it, not in that tone, but he was sure he knew that voice. He looked up and as his vision cleared, he saw Hawke looking down on him, her teeth bared as she growled at him and her expression a mix of spite and disgust.

"H-Hawke!" he wheezed. "What are you-"

She sneered and kicked him again, then pressed her foot down on his throat.

"I should have killed you years ago."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Fat, fat AN ahead, you have been warned!

Let's pretend I didn't already blow the secret a chapter ago. Yes, three Hawkes! A sarcastic/charming warrior, a diplomatic/helpful mage and an an aggressive/direct rogue. All three are with Isabela. Why? Because in all my DA2 playthroughs, I always had Marian Hawke romance Isabela (so I think there's nothing wrong with you at all, fujingodofwind!) and the only difference was Hawke's class and personality, so I figured, hey, it'd be fun if these three Hawkes met! And now here we are.

About the last scene: in Act 2, Hawke can tell Anders to leave Kirkwall. I knew he'd still come back in the finale to make like a terrorist, but I was annoyed that Anders still shows up in Varric's room at the start of Act 3 and Hawke doesn't react to it. That scene, to me, is how an angry rival Hawke will react when she learns Anders is (back) in Kirkwall.

And, yes, the mabari is named Garrett. I like using canon names. Also, I think it's a cute name for a puppy. The Sebastian scene and the last two scenes were totally rushed because I just wanted to finish this damn chapter. The longer this thing got, the more I realized it was a terrible idea to keep the three Hawkes thing a secret. Oy. But at least it's out there now. Yay!

Now, I'm going to play Assassin's Creed Revelations, then I'll probably play the other two that came before it and then maybe start a new funny warrior Hawke game. On the off chance anyone out there is enjoying this fic enough to want it to continue sooner than later, you are more than welcome to try to charm me out of playing those games. Happy holidays!

**PS:** Someone awesome is going to post a hot, steamy take on the night Isabela had with the angry rogue Hawke. It's not everyone's cup of tea, though, so if anyone wants to see it, PM me or tell me to post the link on my profile.


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